Behind the Curtains, All Will Be Revealed
by SpellBell
Summary: What happens when one struggling actress has to act with her arch nemesis and ex lover, avoid a murder, AND get a 4 star review? This modern day fiction has twists, turns, dark secrets, as well as the occasional drinkings and drugs. Need Girls! R&R...plea
1. Gypsies, Stoners, and Poker

_She bit down on her tongue, taking the only relief she could find in the blood that her pearly teeth drew forth, its metallic bite mirroring her own. The wind, angry with her recklessness, smacked her in the face with menacing blows, worse because it was from a well known yet an invisible opponent. The night air clutched at her breast, had her heartbeat racing far too quickly for comfort…. Had comfort been what she was seeking, she would have then stopped, but she sought such trivialities no longer. _This_ was what she was looking for; that excitement that seemed almost to numb her pain, her emotions, the almost unbearable heaviness of a burden given her. She could feel that tension rising up in her throat, in her eyes, threatening to finally abandon the precarious tipping, to succumb at last and spill over, onto her breasts. She lunged to the side of the road, and sat there, inhaling what had been so momentarily lost, and exhaling the numbness that had for a blinding instant taken over, shocking herself with the pounding of her veins, like drums echoing down the narrow corridors of her body. When at last the curtain parted, in the form of a cloud heavy with anguish, a lone beam of pale moonlight shone its night lamp on her face._

_In that moment you could read a thousand words writ upon her face, their bumbling harmonies tripping through her eyelashes, stumbling through a maze of light freckles, each afraid that their meaning be lost beneath her shrill cry and the fog beneath her tears. With one final piercing note all sounds ceased, the wind quit its pummelling fists, and everything grew quite still. In that one moment, as yet the one defining moment in her terribly short lifetime, she gripped her sanity with a slippery grasp and gazed out at the crossroad she had mistakenly stopped at. "…'an neath the monlight she buried her winsome face in two trembling hands, so that none would dare read the story she held in her eyes, hear against her sighs the swallowed words down her aching throat..."_

Two brown eyes, belonging to a certain Rachel Sullivan whose soul held a fire that melted the chocolate of them into a sensuous liquid color, bore down on her with a look of contempt. Spell's own eyes twinkled in a delightful response, revelling in the dramatic moment they were creating with their old-as-time eye lock, unbeknownst to the others. Rachel, Ray for short, looked especially lovely tonight, of course, as she always did. Thanks to a recent trip to the salon Panache, her usually wild woman hair was tamed and mussed in a purposeful 'just got done having wild, sweaty sex' kind of way, and highlighted with alternating shades of darker brunette shades and natural red highlights, that brought her lovely brown eyes to attention. Her dangling gold egyptian earrings sparkled in the light of flickering candles and electric lights, in a way that only someone extremely stoned is able to distinguish. Her long limbs were tangled with Spell's best friend and brother, Benjamin; or as they liked to call him, Spot...which was odd, because Rachel had been dating Race for 2 years... such was what alcohol did to teenagers.

Next to Spot was Race, fumbling with a cigar. Spell smiled at him and as if sensing her gaze he looked up, and she was startled at the tumult of emotions in his eyes before he quickly looked down. She shook it off, putting it down to the beer and drugs. Strewn about the room haphazardly were about 10 other teenage bodies, curled into eachother, each indistinguishable in the shadows. Spell frowned, suddenly envious of Ray's lovely ivory skin, and clear face, with no freckles or markings or scars. She sighed inwardly, angry with herself for being so vain. She may be a teenage girl, but it was just not a good enough excuse. Ray was one of Spell's best friends, and the look of contempt being thrown her way was due to Ray losing their game of poker. Of course, Spell's own attack of sparkling eyes wouldn't have been common in a live-or-die duel, but neither was she a common person. That, she had learned, people could tell within the first minute of meeting her. She had no idea what they were talking about, of course.

_Concentrate, Spell, Damn it!_ Trying to throw herself into the game she looked down at her royal flush and changed her expression neither with the cock of an eyebrow or the twitch of a smile. But her eyes… she glanced above Ray's head at a mirror suspended on a retro purple wall, covered with a collage of all sorts of FolioWeekly and Pink Floyd albums, and looked at herself offhandedly. She hadn't exactly tried to look her best tonight, since there had been no one in particular to impress… Yet. Her long hair, meeting the middle of her back, was a natural shade of champagne blonde, much to the envy of her cohorts. When asked about it by classmates and the occasional hair stylist, she suggested it might have been the fact that she had grown up in Florida, and had spent much of her time out of doors, playing in the surf and sand. Thanks to a good stylist her friend had dragged her to last summer, she had a nice haircut that framed her face but didn't hide it, with swoop bangs which she had cut herself again last night, because they had become ridiculously emo and long, and long layers that suited her well. The only concession to make up she had used tonight was some of her favorite Maybelline Mascara in Brown, and a hint of BonneBelle lipgloss that made her cupid's bow lips look juicy and tempting and tasted good too!. Her features were classic 'Grace Kelly, but softer' she had been told by some, and she liked to believe it. Vintage Hollywood was her time. Her cheekbones were lovely, and rarely did she use blush to get the healthy flush on them, or powder to cover the spattering of light freckles on her straight nose. Then, of course, there were her lovely large eyes. They had gone from blue, to green, to grey, and even violet, to a handsome and alluring shade of blue and green. They were hardly normal eyes, though. A sun with long golden fingers, touched with all its yellow limbs each and every color in her unique rainbowl, a sky of azure blue surrounded the sun, while a pool of green held her large black pupils in comfort.

She had long ago been told, by a travelling gypsy, that those who looked into her eyes 'held her thoughts in their hands'. With the thought of the gypsy, and the words she had said, Spell sucked on the mere roach of a joint she had left and let her stoned mind wander…

_That night, she had been with her friends, when they were about 13 probably. They had all heard of the old fashioned gypsies camped out in the large oak forest, but only Spell had been brave enough to take the dare to approach them and have her fortune told. She had hesitantly knocked on the carriage door, her heart beating wildly, while her eyes traced every color on the caravan's old design the paint chipped and worn by storms and age. After a moment that lasted an eternity a woman had opened the door to her, her thick black hair tied back with a red ribbon and her skin the color of caramel. She had been wearing a long skirt of simple, white cotton, and an off the shoulders peasent top cropped to her arms and a spattering of red and yellow flowers. 'Come, come' She had been ushered into a larger room than she had imagined, covered with throw pillows and persian rugs. The lovely gypsy went into another part of the caravan, leaving Spell standing there, sniffing the remnants of something left in the air. It didn't smell entirely bad, but she had a feeling it was illegal. The tall hookah in the corner made her somwhat uneasy, though at that young age she didn't yet know what they were…exactly. She had a good feeling though._

_There were paintings on every wall, brilliant and beautiful, and waiting there Spell had been drawn to one in particular. It was of two woman, with wings, holding eachother and dancing on the stars. Something about the painting pricked Spell's memory and her eyes were awash with tears at the majesty of it all, and the sadness of her motherlessness. Had she had a mother of her own, she would have bought her this painting, though she wasn't sure why. The smaller one in the painting, the daughter she assumed, was golden colored and had long flowing hair, her mouth open in a shout of glee. The mother held her daughter's hands, their legs kicking up stardust, her body the true pale color of moonlight, her hair white silver, and her eyes a startling familiar shade of blue. She reached out to touch the painting when she noticed the daughter's eyes… they were green, gold, and blue, all at once, like her own eyes… She leaned so close to the painting her nose was almost touching it, as if just by getting closer she could solve a mystery. The little girl winked at her. Spell yelped and tumbled backward, straight into the wise gypsy woman._

'_Hello little one. I didn't expect you to come so soon.' Her accented voice, thick with wisdom, soothed her fears again. 'Do you know me?' The elder gypsy, had asked at once. Spell had shook her head sadly, as if she knew she was giving the wrong answer but could not prevent it._

'_Am I supposed to?' she asked, generally curious._

_The woman laughed, her wizened face breaking into a smile. 'No. Not yet, I suppose. But I know you.' Spell blinked slowly, trying to grasp the woman's words; her own spine shivered with awareness at the reality of the woman's status. 'I knew your mother. Once.'_

'_My mother?' The little girl had asked with a shuddering breath._

_'Yes. I know… about her… disappearance. This, it saddens me, but I, I told her twould happen. And you, no more than a baby…' The gypsy sighed, taking a delicate sip of her tea, the steam curling like transparent silver chains, around her lips. Lock your lips. The smell of sage overwhelmed her as did these words. What did she mean, she had known? How…  
'You are young, and brave for coming here. You probably did it on accident, but fate is many times accidental. No protesting. No questions. I understand you want to know about your mother, not about your future but her past.' She cocked her head 'It has always been the past to interest you, yes?' The younger could do little else but nod. 'Very well. Please, another log on the fire if you will, child. My knees become to old to take the pain that it takes. Ah, thank you, my old bones grow cold quickly these days.'Spell had gotten down, taking her precious time, so the woman would tell all. When only silence met her, she turned back to see the gypsy woman staring, tears leaking out of her eyes. 'So much like your mother.'_

_Spell had gone to the woman, kneeled at her feet, and taken her two small, wrinkled hands, in her own untarnished large ones. The woman looked up in surprise, as if she'd lacked for such touch in so long, and the little girl felt her own heart touched at the salty tears caught in the crevices of the woman's face. 'Please. Tell me about my mother.'_

_The gypsy woman nodded, reaching for a wood pipe and lighting it with the flame of a candle, exhaling on a shaky breath. 'Very well…' a wolf howled into the darkness, but nothing could deter either of them in that sullen moment. 'Your mother, she was beautiful, like you are going to be someday. We met years and years ago. I found your mother knocking on death's door, pale and beautiful, in the middle of a backroad somewhere in Europe. I can't remember exactly where, but I was much younger than I am now. I was growing up with all my older brothers and my grandmother, who had little time to spare for me… so the thought of someone my age, and a girl, excited me beyond all measure. At first I feared we would not take her in, but when my grandmother was called forth… I do not know to this day what swayed her, but she would not back down. Her and my father argued and argued, but my grandmother won out._

'_For days she couldn't get out of bed, and my grandmother made her my responsibility, retreating further into herself, mumbling incantations, reading and re-reading the tarot, always shouting in desbelief 'but this can not be, but this can not be!' I watched over your mother, who had yet to waken, and I spoke to her. I spoke to her about my dreams to see the world, and more. To find a way to fly. My dream to paint.' The gypsy smiled whimsically 'Such an old dream, but alas, old dreams never do extinguish. When your mother finally awoke it was when I was singing an old song I had picked up somewhere in Wales. The moon was a mere sliver in the sky, but within the first verse she awoke, sitting straight up, demanding of me where I had learned of that song. Over and over she asked me, and I sat there in fear, staring her straight in the eyes…' her eyes darkened 'they were an unnatural, untarnished, crystal blue. All I could think to do was hold her, and sing some other song, something less emotional for her. So that is what I did, until she collapsed in my arms and tears spilled forth._

_I knew something was wrong when she touched her face in wonder and clutched her beating heart as if it were some peril to her… I am not from here, I am not from here, she insisted over and over. I asked her where she was from, and she could only cry… in truth it disturbed me greatly. So I asked her a simpler question, what her name was. She mumbled something, and I only heard her sigh the name Annwn. Eventually, she withdrew from her ball and asked me who I was, where they had found her, and exactly what I was._

_'After that, she seemed rather resigned, and always looked out longingly to the sunset…'_

'_What…did she look like?' Spell asked tentatively, having only a very hazy image of her mother in her head.  
The gypsy's arched eyebrows furrowed. _

'_As I said, beautiful. The boys in every village we passed would always request an audience with the fair and beautiful Ann, which at that time of my life made me very jealous. She turned away all her suitors though, and retreated to her room the whole day long. Ah, yes, but what she looked like was the question, not the question of a temporary envy…' she tapped a finger to her lips in speculation. 'She was always very dainty; thin. She was quite small, too. She had skin like… like cream, I suppose, and its texture was of rose petals. She had large eyes, like yours, but only they were that startling blue that set her apart. High cheekbones, a small plump mouth, unlike yours, which will be wide and full and beautiful… and her hair… when first we met her it was silver, and as the days on the carvan progressed, it became like the yellow of butter, with always those lovely silver streaks which I so used to envy. She never seemed quite happy though. Always in her smile, there was a sadness that so hurt to see it killed me, but when I asked her why she would not answer… she was a good friend. We'd sit for hours and talk, and when at last I made the descent to womanhood and suitors were asking about me… don't look so surprised, I may be older now, but I was once young and lovely, like my daughter Isabelle, the one who let you in.'_

_Spell imagined the lovely woman at the door and then imagined the woman sitting before her, and she was able to mesh the two perfectly. She nodded, asking her to go on with her eager eyes. 'When did she meet my father?'_

'_As I recall, she met him one day in Ireland. It was one of the days she wanted to be alone, so I was not with her, and she travelled to the seashore to sing. A young sailor found her there, and stopped, entranced by her lovely voice. When she turned around and saw him, they knew no one else would ever do, and they eloped a few days later.' She stopped, looked at the girl, and went on. 'They were very happy, you do understand that? There was always just that… longing in her heart that she could never account for. She used to write me letters with tears in her eyes about it, always remembering the bond we created in those years together, grateful for me and our friendship. Which is why her disappearance was such a surprise. I don't think she left because of your father's… death. I don't know when, or how, or why, or where, but the questions have aged me beond years, and still there are no answers. But little one, you know this. Your eyes…' she had said reverently, with a mere touch of awe, 'They are like the fae… and so are you. I can see it in your blood, little one. Your wings folded by the menacing disbelief of our own narrow minds… But I see that you trust in the words I am saying, though they bring you fear. You shall learn more yourself, lovely fae. Your mother disappeared when you were quite young, and your father, you were told, died in battle. Indeed they did, but not the kind of battle you might expect. Ah, my words bring confusion, but you shall soon know what I mean yourself… someday, when the moon is just so' she had waved dramatically toward a small window in the caravan, where the smell of pines and opium lingered still, and crackling bonfires snapped and cackled, where indeed the moon was high and full, a mother about to overflow with a child of moonlight._

_The woman continued staring at her with eyes a darker black than the sky, with its starlight, could ever hope to achieve. 'So you, too, yearn for your nature. Little faerie. Like your…' but before the lovely gypsy woman could proceed, a sudden fierce pounding of fists on the door, and a blaze of uncontrollable fire from the chimney place had both woman fearing for their safety. The wind howled, and beneath it there had been something akin to a banshee's cry that had chilled and stopped the beating of her heart for longer than a moment. When it all had suddenly stopped, the gypsy woman had been lying on a heap in the middle of the room, her large eyes wide and her dark hair streaked with gray all atmble. 'They know you child, and want no more of my guidance given. Go now, before we both regret what actions are taken...' _

_The young girl had stood firm, still in a state of shock. 'But…but what about my mother? What about what I need to learn? That's why I was sent here, wasn't it?' The gypsy shook her head, her large gold earrings glinting menacingly in warning.  
'No more of this, lest they come back. Seek me out when you remember your true name. Until then… go.'_

"Well?"

Spell was momentarily shifted from the reverie, and transported far forward into time, a place where such dreams had no place for her. Ray looked at Spell's eyes that moment and saw that they didn't match the poker face that seemed to be frozen on her face. Spell shook away the tiny shards of the dream left to stab at her memory, and reached for the bowl her brother was holding read: bowl as in a marijuana bowl, not a cereal bowl.

"Ray Sullivan..." Spell paused for empshasis and smirked as a flicker of surprise passed across Ray's face "I do believe yer bluffin' " She announced to the clearly annoyed Rachel. Ray narrowed her eyes and fought against the corners of her mouth turning upwards. Goddamn her, Goddamn her! How the hell did she_ always _seem to know? Ray supposed it was the actress in Spell, the one that could tug down a poker face over a giggling, slightly tipsy teenager, or on that pouty melancholy artist bit. Ray, herself, wasn't much of an actress. She prefferred a game of poker, with a beer in one hand and a joint in the other. Usually.

Ray looked across the room at Spot, who had gotten up; he turned and caught her gaze and she felt her breath catch with all that was between them, all the memories, all the ugly nasty lies and the equally passionate nights...

"Wanna bet?" Through the hazy green smoke, so thick it could be a curtain, and the boys hushed 'guy talk' all around them she could still easily seperate it all when she gazed at Spell's face and saw that wide, wise-ass smile. Spell's brother, and Ray's current boyfriend, couldn't have been any prouder if they'd been betting hundreds.

"You bet yer ass I would," She smacked down a few dollars and the sound of spilled secrets stilled. Spell knew that Ray didn't have much to stand on, and she watched in satisfaction as her friend gave up in surrender.

"Christ, Spell. I thought actresses were s'posed to live in poverty and eat beans out of a tin-can, not be slapping down a twenty dollar bill widda couple tens in yer pocket!" Ray irritatingly brushed back a wisp of curly brown hair that swayed warily in front of her face, now pink from annoyance. Spell let out a hoot and laughed a bit more. She always laughed alot when she was stoned. Not that Ray minded, for all the suffocating smoke in the room and the few beers she had, had altered her as well. Ray looked around and found that the futon was, surprisingly, empty… hmmm… ideas?

"Dija win anythin'?" Nickel wondered aloud. Her dark brown hair swaying before her eyes as she slapped away eager hands. She stifled a giggle. Her breath smelled like stale alcohol and sweet peppermint kisses. It made for an odd combination.

"Do you give a shit?" someone asked aloud. The room snickered.

"Look at us...loungin around in Skit's apartment, underage drinkin...smokin our lives away, and loving like it'll last forever, even do we'll 'forget' in da mornin... God I love bein a teenager," Nickel sighed before she rested her head against her latest boyfriend's chest, the alcohol she had drank still fogging her mind and her judgement. She placed gentle kisses on his chin and on his neck before letting him wrap his arms, and a blanket, around her. Spell felt that familiar aching in her chest, and an old memory threatening to submerge her in terror... Finding herself shivering, and realizing she needed a friend to turn to, and that the friend would certainly not be Nickel, she began to search for Ray.

"Ray?" She turned to question her brother, but found him staring longingly into the distance, and saw Ray and Race curled into eachother and giggling. She rolled her eyes; teenagers. Huffing and jerking open the foor, relieved of the pungent smell of marijuana and beer.

She sank down against the door, and thought out her problems in quiet. Alone.

'**O come away o human child,**

**To the waters and the wild**

**With a faerie hand in hand**

**For the world's more full of weeping**

**Than you can understand'**

**-W.B. Yeats**


	2. Hangovers, Passion, and Auditions

**Shoutouts:**

** Rose/ a.k.a. Dusty- I have you in this one! Tell me if I did okay, right?  
Ray- AWWW I love you. : Hows that letter!  
Lucks- got your CC, you'll be in the next chapter!  
Logic/Lo- GREAT CC; your definitely in the next chapter.  
**

** everyone else, thanks so much for your support!

* * *

**

**Coffee Please!**  


Rachel Sullivan was blind. And someone was tap-dancing on her head.

At least, that's what she had thought when first awakening to a pounding head and bright light streaming through the opened blinds. She groped her eyelids and prayed that God would hear her agony and turn off the fucking lights.

Well, if he had heard, he obviously didn't care.

More than a little hung-over, Rachel chose to ignore the cheerily bright sun that hung above her, singing colors with annoying tenacity that scattered sunbeams around the room, therefore highlighting all the other hung-over people coughIDIOTScough there. With yet another groan for dramatics, she turned on her side and, imagine her surprise to find another living, breathing body next to her. Ray turned over once more, pursing her lips and squeezing her eyes more tightly shut, praying that she hadn't fucked up too badly. This time.

"What the _fuck _did I do last night?" She asked herself aloud apparently a little too loud, for her rhetorical question was answered by a shoe being thrown at her face. Luckily it was only a slipper, and said-thrower was aiming blindly.

"What, you mean besides me?"

Dear God. Ray stiffened, aware of a startling chill climbing up her back, tickling her with feather-like icicles, swarming her brain with a roar of confusion. The classic Brooklyn voice, smug with truth of her dishonor, and smelling of a curiously refreshing mixture of southern butter pecan coffee cream and cigarettes, made her dizzy with understanding.

Spot Conlon.

"Dear God."

"Funny. 'Zactly whatchu said last night too." She turned over, ever so slightly, to find two crystal blue eyes eyeing her with detached amusement. Her own large brown eyes widened, and she felt her heart hammering in her chest. A side effect of shock, she told herself, even as the memory of a drugged kiss had her closing her eyes again in abandon. "Morning sunshine. Glad to see the festivities we partook in last evenin' didn't… wear you out." He wiggled two black eyebrows at her and winked.

Finally, amidst all the confusing emotions, one rang clear. Ray was _pissed._

"Get your filthy hand OFF OF ME." She yelled, snatching his hand away from her thigh before he even had the chance to… do anything about it.

"Aw, c'mon sugah lips," he eyed hers, which were swollen from last night's kisses, and she pursed them into a tight line, fighting a string of desire that snaked through her anger. "Don't tell me ya didn't have fun last night. Unless 'More, more, god MORE,' is actually code for 'Fuck off bastard'… well, _is it_?"

"Fuck You" She hissed, tossing aside the covers someone had lain over her during the night, and leaping off the bed in a rush of dignity.

"I believe you already have. Three times, last night alone. I had forgotten you were such a wildcat… does Race know that?" His words, mocking yet somehow painfully urgent, stilled her for a second… Spot was right, even if he didn't know it. Race didn't know. They'd agreed to take things slow, without the sex, after she pled her virginity to him two years ago. The truth was she'd kept him away because she was afraid of him finding out her deceit… and finding out who she had really lost it, too. Of course, thinking back on it, he hadn't been all that upset…

Before she could dwell on it, Spot's fingers reached out tentatively to brush the back of her arm. She turned around, slowly, not realizing as Spot did how the light played on her figure, highlighting her dips and curves, making her thin negligee' nearly transparent. He ran a finger through his dark hair, cursing under his breath.

"Christ your beautiful," he said, his voice husky with raw emotion. She shivered before she could stop it, knowing it had nothing to do with a chill in the humid air. He stood, approaching her slowly, as if she were a doe in the forest wary of human touch.

Though he knew all too well how she reacted to _his _touch.

"Rachel," he closed the gap with a last step forward, and grabbed her to him, so she was captured in his powerful embrace, unable to move; worse, she was afraid she didn't want to. Ever. She moaned ever so slightly when his fingers brushed her lips, light as a feather over her hair, on her face.

"Oh…Spot…" she lifted her face to his, ready to abandon herself finally and damn the consequences.

"MOOOORRRNNNNIIIINNGGGG SUNSHINE!" A voice trilled out into the darkened room. "Holy HELL, what did you all DO last night? Well, never mind, everyone UP! UP AND AT 'EM! Jesus Christ, Snipe, how'd you get in here? Come on get up!"  
Suddenly, the few windows that had been pleasingly covered with Venetian blinds were yanked open, spilling light into the room. Next, the annoying squeak of little-used-windows-being-opened further awoke those that had stayed asleep through the racket.

"What the-  
"Who turned on the lights-  
"Turn 'em back on-  
"Fresh AIR? Ugh-  
"Who the hell-?

Rachel broke apart from Spot instantly, recognizing the voice at once, and being both eternally thankful and also oddly annoyed by the interruption. She didn't hear him curse yet again, angry at their broken moment. He pulled on some pants and Ray turned away hurriedly, afraid to be caught staring.

Unfortunately, she was too late. Spot met her eyes, his deft fingers buttoning a simple white shirt. His strong chest peeked through and she had to fight the urge to trail her fingers over the small gap…

"Mush, stop that, have you seen Ray? Rayyy!" The voice was approaching, and they both realized it.

"Ray…" Spot stepped closer to her, but her moment of surrender was gone now, taken away with the voice of reality and the smell of sin, and she took a step back.

"I think you should go. Now." She held herself staunch, and quite out of his reach. He shook his head in exasperation. Her fiery nature was quickly concealed by a thin layer of ice, and he knew well how to break her, but now was not the time.

"I will… now… but this isn't over, Rachel." She watched him go, slipping out one of the many doors in the apartment, and she let out a shaky sigh.

"It never was over." She was startled to find her knees trembling, and she ran a quivering hand through her mane of thick curls.

"RAY, WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? WAKE YOUR HUNG OVER ASS UP!" Her friend's impetulant shriek brought more groans of mutiny, and Ray thought it best to avoid such a dramatic event so early in the day um, 2:00?.

"Right here, Rose." Ray stepped out of the other room, and walked over to her energetic friend, who was busy doling out aspirin, making coffee, and trying to shake off the firm grasp that Mush had on her leg.

"RAY!" Rose squealed girlishly and hugged her dear friend closely, taking a meaningful step back after their reunion was finished to inspect her friend's skimpy lingerie and tousled hair. "Hmm…." Rose queried, cocking a perfectly arched brown eyebrow in question. "Have any… fun last night?" Her large, dark brown eyes trailed Ray's body in a river of satisfaction and curiosity. Had her friend, at long last, gotten laid!

"Just the usual," Rachel responded, reaching for Rose's cup of coffee and bringing it to her lips with a flourish. "Mmmm…. Hazelnut. My Fave." She hopped on the counter, catching a stranded drip of coffee on her chin and licking it off of her pinky finger. When at last there was not a drop to be had she lowered the cup and met her friend's sparkling eyes.

"It's my favorite, too." She reported dryly, eyeing the empty coffee cup with exasperation. "Oh well. So…" Rose looked down at her fingernails, attempting to hide her eyes from twinkling unduly. "How was last night?"

Ray shrugged. "Just like any other night."

But Rose wasn't so easily fooled. "Right… that's why you're wearing lingerie. _Silk_ lingerie. In red."

"It's Spell's." Ray said, to distract her. She went over to the bumbling coffee machine and poured herself another glass of coffee, wishing that she knew what secret ingredient could turn her lazy mornings into efficient and glam like her friend's seemed to be. Already, though it was only 2:15 late for the drunkards, har har, Rose was decked out in a pair of faded jeans, a white cami, and some crazy dangly earrings she had found at a garage sale last weekend. It wasn't that she had an amazing fashion sense; she just always seemed to look good! Her brown, layered hair touched her shoulders, and her athletic, toned body was a honey golden color from running laps around the park. Her almond shaped eyes were large, and she proudly framed them with a hint of 'Clear Mascara' and her just right lips were redder from her ChapStik, which she got at CVS.

"How do you do it?" Ray asked, looking on enviously at her friend's fit, lithe body.

Rose looked up in genuine surprise, another coffee mug in her hand. "Do what?"

"Be… so… perfect." Rose's lovely eyes widened.

"Me?" She scoffed. "As if. Look, look here!" She pointed to a rip in her jeans that only enhanced their glamour. "See?"

Ray shook her head in mock sadness, a trace of amusement on her puffy lips, as she reached for some more coffee, hoping to make its way through the haze that was last night.

"Dusty? 'Zat'chyu?" A creaky voice called out amongst the rising clamor. Rose/Dusty rolled her dark eyes at her friend. Ray snickered. Hung over people are so fun to watch! Right, until you are one. "Duuusssttyyyy!"

"GAWD! I'm coming!" Dusty rushed to pour some more coffee for the poor soul, and Ray sat and watched with an ease that only came after a few reviving shots of caffeine. It was relaxing somehow, sitting on the cheap tile counter, watching her friends rouse themselves with a little compassion of course. However, she doubted that any amount of coffee could help make sense of last night.

She took a tentative sip. How had it come about? She remembered a card game with Spell, losing as always, retreating to the futon with Racetrack, and then… what? It wasn't unthinkable that she had ended up with Spot in bed. It was just… she didn't want to think about it. Or did she? I mean, of course she didn't! She was with Race now for god's sake, had been for 22 months now! So… why did the sight of Spot Conlon in a faded white button up shirt still have the power to make a shiver course through her body like lightning? White hot heat, was how she had described their relationship; passionate till the very end. It had ended in the disastrous amount of unleashed passion that such a relationship could only promise. After her heartbreak she had promised to never become involved with him again, or the likes of him, and 2 months later she'd found Race; kind, sweet, caring Race. So… why was she thinking about Spot again after all this time?

"Mornin' Rachel" The voice startled her from her musings and she turned around to find a rumpled Racetrack standing a few feet behind her. To conceal her surprise, Ray jumped from the counter, leaned against it, took another sip of coffee and smiled. "Morning, Race." She looked at him, in his tight jeans, his messy hair which he'd allowed to grow out past his ears, in a cute scruffy way, a faded grey t-shirt, and a day's growth of stubble on his chin. She waited for a burst of passion to course through her, making her feel alive in the most alarming way, and felt only a steady warmth of affection in her belly. Because that was what their relationship was, and that's what she depended on it to be. Steady.

"You okay?" He asked her, walking over to the cupboards and scanning the empty shelves for, she guessed, a glass. Finding none, he got a red plastic cup, poured his coffee black, as always and took a long sip. She cocked her head and smiled crookedly. How could she not adore him?

"Fine." He cocked his eyebrow skeptically. "Okay. Better than everyone else." She pulled a chair from the table and sat in it, watching his eyes close as he drained the cup.

"Good to hear." He remained standing, and looked her over carefully. She felt her cheeks redden and she tugged at her hair, wondering if she had a hickey on her neck.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "So…"

"So." He waited.

She opened her mouth to say something when at that precise moment; Dusty came rushing in, oddly out of breath for a mere sprint around the apartment. Her hair was tousled, probably from the wind sneaking in through the open windows, and her eyes were sparkling a little maniacally which added to her quirky charm. "RAY, YOU WILL TOTALLY NOT BELIEVE-"

"Hello." Race's quiet voice lacked its usual cockiness, and Ray watched as her friend's excited face went through a humorous range of emotions. Her exuberant expression became surprised, her mouth a perfect 0, her eyes wide, then her cheeks flooded with heat, she shut her mouth guiltily, and her eyes became pleading. Before Ray could ask what was wrong, her face became quietly blank, and she turned her back on Ray to face Racetrack.

"Oh. Hello there." Her voice oozed disinterest, but her eyes were sparkling with an intensity not to be ignored. Rachel felt like an outsider, a million miles away, as she watched the curious meeting.

"I didn't know you'd be here." Race continued, taking a baby step forward. Dusty looked as if she'd like to retreat, but Ray was in her way and wasn't about to move to make anything easier.

"I came to help some friends." She said simply. Race nodded, his dark hair falling in his eyes. Dusty's breath caught, and in that moment Ray felt a flicker of heat pass between the two, a flicker so small as to be almost unnoticeable to the rest of the world, yet so big as to create a swell of something lingering in the air. Ray, out of place, felt isolated, sitting there watching the intensity of the moment pass by, the passion never fading from the two. They, too, seemed to have forgotten she existed. Dusty's breath came a bit fast, and her head began to spin: NOT because of him, she assured herself, even as her vision closed around him.

Race came rushing forward. "Are you alright?" He asked, steadying her. Their breathing was in synch, their heart beats were as one, and Ray felt further and further away with each second. It was as if the universe had stilled time, but only for these two, and everyone else was continuing with normalcy; yet Ray had somehow gotten stuck in between. They were both breathing a bit hard. Rachel wondered what the cause was. Did stopping time make you breathless?

"Fine. I'm… great." Race's hands were still on her shoulders, and he was staring into Dusty's eyes with an intensity she had rarely, if ever, seen from him. Was that a pang of jealousy, or longing? And who exactly did Rachel long for? She suddenly felt very guilty, as if she were the one intruding, and she began to quietly back away. "And you?" She heard Dusty ask, her voice muffled to Rachel's ears. Her friend's small hands unconsciously reached up and settled over Race's, which were still on her shoulders steadying her.

"Great." He answered, smiling at her shyly. Ray felt her heart lurch. _Oh._

"I…" Dusty began.

"Yes?" Race asked, stepping closer, one of his hands reaching to cup her cheek. Ray felt her world tumbling this way and that as she tried to stop herself. She just needed to go. Now. Ray was almost successfully out of the way when she felt her feet slip beneath her. She grabbed a chair quickly but still went falling, falling, falling down.

"RAY!" She heard her friend call out. As she went tumbling down, the last thought on her mind was Spot, and his open collar shirt. She let out a cry as her head hit the concrete flooring, and stars erupted. _Spot_, she thought, and she wondered if she actually said his name out loud. But before she could wonder any longer, her world went quite black.

* * *

**Lights, Camera, Auditions! **

Spell, unaware of the drama at the apartment, was being tortured with her own rumbling emotions. A lump formed in her throat with no words, no time, as her stunning eyes glistened with unshed tears, her pointed chin trembled, and her full lips formed into a tear-your-heart-out pout. "He... he doesn't care," She felt her heart hammering in her chest and she moaned in agony, a few tears spilling onto her flawless cheeks. The effect was rendered all the more touching and beautiful because of her thick, dark lashes brushing her cheeks, as tears slipped silently in quiet agony. She felt as if her tears were melting her, which would be a welcome escape from the emotions that tripped through her body.

"WHY!" Now she felt anger, showed it on her face in a snarl, and her sumptuous lips curled around her ivory white teeth. "Why ME!WHY was I cursed with this love, this ache inside of me that, oh if only I could, I would reach out under my heart AND RIP IT OUT!" And at that point she was making wild gestures with her lovely hands. But because of her beauty and grace, and the moment, it was captivating rather than insane.

"Why..." She turned to speak to her listeners, the ones who would condemn her or save her grace. "Why this dull aching inside of me that will live on until the day I die, which if I had it my way would be shortened with the arrow of cupid's bow piercing me _through_ my heart and not just lodged in it, hurting, throbbing, poisoning my soul!" She cried out, her hands clutching her heart, and she tumbled onto the floor, moaning as if there were actually a literal arrow stuck in her chest. She ignored someone's quiet gasp and continued with her own curse. "Well," She took a shaky breath, and stood up with the help of her trembling hands. Her tone had softened, and she looked quite literally drained of energy; her face was pale, foreboding; a beautiful death. "I told you once, sir, that I don't believe in ghosts. But…if I did, I would haunt him, pierce him with this insane loving that has driven me to insanity. Yes." She relished the word, drawing it out, savoring it. "I would. I would feel no regret when the first lovelorn attack took him, his frozen heart wrought with all my emotions and more. He would then know _half_ of my pain. _Half_ of my suffering. Only then, will I shed my precious tears for him." As if on cue a silent tear trickled down her cheek, catching on the sharp jut of her cheekbone, falling into her thick hair, disappearing with nary a glimmer.

She was beginning to turn away when she heard wild applause. There were few observing the auditions that day, but she turned around and flashed her brilliant smile so that two endearing dimples popped up on both her cheeks. She flicked away the tears and scrubbed her face, thanking God that her lovely friend had lent her some 'Black Waterproof Mascara' as a dramatic afterthought. Apparently it had worked, dramatizing her already skilled capabilities as an actress.

"Thank you," She said shyly, contradicting her quiet manner with a bold gazing into the audience, feeling their stares, their judgment, their approval, their arousal. She had read the scene and perfected it, feeling the poor girl's sorrow. The play was all about a young girl named Isabelle, who had been taught magic by her mother, and was accused wrongly of a murder. She was then spirited away by a man a bit older than she, because of her supposed powers; he had hoped for her to use them to gain riches and power to win the heart of his lover lost, Emmeline. Predictably, both of them fall in love. Of course, Emmeline is then determined to get him, and in a mad fit of jealousy turns Nicholas against Isabelle with the 'conclusive evidence' that she has him bewitched. Nicholas, disgusted, turns her into the authorities. The play ends with Isabelle at the stake, crying, and her last words, which Spell had memorized already, had been: 'You fool. Can't you see she is the one bewitching you, with her false words and tongue of lies? Hear this my beloved Nicholas: When I am gone, so is my magic. Then you will see that our love was true; not of witchcraft. Then, you will hate yourself for what you have done.' He did end up hating himself, drove himself insane, and eventually killed himself by way of poison.

A predictable plot, perhaps, but it was just the kind of play she adored. Plus, the director was quite a famous one, despite his young age, and she was a great fan of his. She did a little curtsy, smiled at the director, and walked off the stage with a trail of elegance behind her, the way she imagined Isabelle must have walked with the authorities, her lover behind her cursing the one he once adored.

The director, in his 20s and very ambitious, was amused at her boldness. He had already mentally cast her as his lead. Sure, she was a bit on the young side, but that mature face of hers, those sexy pouty lips, those sleek subtle curves, had all screamed Isabelle! Isabelle! He chuckled into his poor excuse for a beard and feasted his eyes on the stage where he would see, in just a second, another of Isabelle's potential lovers. He supposed he should watch her just as much for any reaction of pleasure or distaste. Not that it mattered, he firmly told himself, and believed it. She could easily bring any romantic feelings she had for any potential candidate and make the scenes burn with such a vivid intensity the audience could feel the flame's take them away from their predictable lives and make them all Isabelle and Nicholas. He smiled, pleased at the thought. He was still smiling when he called out the next name.

"Francis?"

He cast a quick glance at 'Isabelle', before the potential lover took the stage. She looked bored. His eyes shone as he watched her lean a head on her hand and yawn widely, stifling it as she noticed a few harsh glares directed her way. Apparently she had stayed up too late last night. Doing what? He mused. He came up with several possibilities waiting for the actor to take the stage.

"Er, hi, my name is Francis, and I, uh, am trying out for the part of Nicholas." The director smirked. Like this kid had a chance. He looked over to evaluate Isabelle's reaction and was surprised to see a terrified look had swarmed her eyes, and she was opening and closing her mouth rather crudely. Well, well, well. He thought to himself, stroking his beard (an annoying habit his girlfriend was constantly nagging him about. LET HER NAG, DAMN IT! HE WAS AN ARTEEST!). He turned to Nicholas just as he began to read.

"I _want_ Isabelle! I feel it, humming in my bones, throbbing in my temples. Oh, she drives my crazy, drives me wild with longing! I can feel my heart constrict in my chest when she glances my way, when I know thatI am the one to put that blush into her cheeks. I want to feel her silkiness... feel her tongue slide into my mouth and stroke it caressingly. I want to peel off that dress and dig my hands in her _blonde_ hair," The director was shocked out of his own intense reaction to the powerful young actor when he said that line. Because it was wrong. It wasn't blonde hair. It was _thick_. Well, well, well. He sat back in his chair, glancing slyly at 'Isabelle'. She was a deep crimson red and her eyes shone with innocence, and anger. _Such anger._ And something else... something else... that was when he knew that no one else would do for this part. He was shocked by the end of the performance and the actor trotting gaily down the stairs.

The director watched with detached curiosity as Isabelle tried to make a quick get-away. She was sneaking towards the exit when a mob of disappointed, angry, sniveling college kids pushed past her, muttering their complaints only loud enough when they were out of his ear distance. 'Nicholas' stood a few feet from her, a smug smile on his lips as she realized that she was cornered. Finally, she slowly rounded on him. Her eyes were blazing, and her body language was withdrawn. An interesting contradiction, the director thought distractedly. Shifting his acute gaze to 'Nicholas' he noted that the young man was surprised though he was trying not to show it a little smug, and… what? Again that unidentifiable something else...Nicholas took a step toward her and she took one back. His eyes blazed with anger at her retreat; hers screamed fear.

Passion.

That was it. Their rhythm, their un-self-conscious passion between the two.

He walked up to them, and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "Congratulations, you got the role... _both_ of you."

And he left them there, laughing gaily.


	3. Wildflower Eyes Reunions & Lemon Sighs

**SHOUT OUTS: **

**Logic/Lo... i'm sorry, your DEF in the next one. I already wrote you in.  
Flame- Thanks for the CC!  
Lady Sorciere- Girls are still needed. Thanks!**

Everyone else... review!

**

* * *

Wild Flower Eyes**

"_You_!" She stepped backwards again, as a warm fire in his eyes bloomed, a fire she could not touch without being burned, without being broken. She felt her heart hammering in her chest but she dare not let it show.

He had gotten taller, she realized. His hair was no longer slicked back the way he had worn it for so long, and it was a tad bit longer. His face had not lost its youth, though it was drawn, and he was a bit tanner than when she had last seen him. He wore some nice fitting jeans and a jacket against the heat. There was a jagged scar under his left eyebrow and it took every ounce of her resolve not to lift her hand and touch it soothingly. He still wore his red bandana, though he wore it wrapped around one of his belt loops instead. Were the days of cowboys truly over? She thought of that Dixie Chicks song… _'cowboy take me away...'_ indeed._  
_

"_Me_? Francis Sullivan, known to all otherwise as Jack Kelly, the infamous? Could it truly be?" He chuckled, and stepped towards her, looking a little confused and not a little hurt when she took two steps back. Through the hurt clouding his vision, the hurt he would not let show on his handsome face, he could see that she was studying him, and how he had changed. Not that she would ever really know the extent of his change. Ever. Lost in his thoughts he hardly noticed her moving backwards towards the exit until the sighing creak of an old floorboard had him looking up, into her mortified face. What was there to escape from? Him?

Spell was trying quite desperately to be quiet; which, she assured herself, could just be mistaken for discreet or polite to a person who before her eyes became lost in his own thoughts. She, of all people, knew the look, the way his deep brown eyes grew hazy, and thick. Too hard to get out from the thick caramel colored eyes, to hard to go further and actually realize what he was thinking. Oh, sure, he put on this cocky little bull-shit attitude. She knew better than to accept that. There was something lying there, beneath the surface, ready to erupt if only given half a chance… she wasn't in the mood to provide such an opening. As she snuck further away, she knew the floorboard was going to creak, loud and long, as she daintily laid her open-toed sandals on them. _Shit, shit, shit!_ He regained awareness, coming to and seeing her there, a lovely girl with the stricken look of a cornered doe, her large eyes betraying the extent of her fear. When he stepped towards her this time, in long strides she could no longer easily out do with her legs-for-days, she stayed in place with an elegant dignity, though she was quaking like thunder on the inside.

He was surprised she didn't move. They stood in the large auditorium, with paneled walls and scratched wooden floors. The chairs were red and velvet. Were they comfortable? He wondered fleetingly. The place was filled with light, and he observed lazily the dust motes that floated by, unaware of the turbulence between this boy and this girl. If dust motes had thoughts, Jack thought, would they wonder about his history with the lovely girl before him? Oftentimes, he found himself doing just that; remembering, and wondering. Noticing her stillness, he observed that she was apparently lost in her own thoughts, and so he made a study of her, figuring he was in the exact right position to do so.

She was tall, as she had always been, but he was still a head taller than she was. Her hair was to the middle of her back, and had gotten quite wavy; she had cut herself some edgy bangs that suited her soft features. Her small, pointed chin was tilted upright, in a hurt dignity sort of gesture, and her aristocratic nose was sprinkled with extremely light freckles that one could only see if they were right next to her. But he didn't have to be that close to know they were there. Green eyes looked up, as if hearing his thoughts, and he noticed their peculiar glimmer, like innocence and seduction, and he felt a blow much like a hammer hit him in the chest. Jesus, what this girl did to his body, his emotions… she gasped softly, noticing the gleam in his eyes, and his gaze rested finally on her mouth. Her lips, always full, were rosy, and she had apparently used some chap stick, for they looked invitingly soft to him. He looked at her hands and noticed they were just barely shaking. He wished he could stop those nervous jitters... then again, that would only work if he wasn't the one who was causing them. Her eyelashes were dark, and thick, and he remembered the times he had studied the way they lay against her cheek, in a striking contrast. He remembered dreaming of kissing those cheeks... that neck... those eyelids...

"Jack," She said it breathlessly, pleadingly, as she began to step away again... A constant contradiction to herself.

That's when he did it. He looked into her eyes and saw the swarm of emotions there and knew that she knew what it was he was thinking. He would have taken a moment to gather himself, to rethink, to remove the lust from his eyes, but she was escaping, and he couldn't let her do that. Instead, he took her hand firmly in his own, drew her against him, and was extremely pleased to note that they still molded together like perfection. He took a minute to catch his breath, and only sank deeper as the scent of sun, wild flowers, and femininity climbed into him. She raised her eyes to look at him.

"Spell." He murmured...he was moving in closer, dear god why was she as well, when the sound of footsteps had her sailing through reality and stepping away from him quickly.

"Well, if it ain't my two friends Spell, and Jack. How ya been?" Blink smiled into their eyes, and Spell was eternally grateful for the interruption. She suspected Ray had somehow known to send him, either that or The Goddess was looking down on her lovingly. She thanked both, just in case. As Blink chatted animatedly away she looked past him to Jack, and found that he was looking at her. She gulped, and closed her eyes, knowing then that this time he wouldn't give up. He wouldn't! But she just couldn't love him… like him... be with him... or anyone ever again.

_Wild flowers  
Live forever  
In your  
eyes, of surrender _

_Kiss me once more  
An innocent seduction;  
with stealth you may  
climb my heart_

_Drinking this cup of  
life  
I am locked  
by your hands_

_Only your wildflower  
eyes  
provide the lock and key  
releasing._

_Release me...

* * *

_

** Reunions and Lemon Sighs**

Blink was leading them along, keeping a firm grip on the two, as if he were afraid what they might do if he set them free. He chatted along happily, as if there were no awkwardness between the two, as if he hadn't witnessed a 'moment'.

The bastard.

Spell was mentally suffering from his endless droning and she was squeezing her eyes shut hoping against all hope that telepathy would work and bring some dear, old friend. Damn! If she had just studied that book about Telepathy a little more seriously. Well, she was certainly living with the consequences now.

_Dear Mother, if I were to ever ask you something, it would be now. Remember Jack? Yes, well he is unexpectedly walking by my side and causing extreme turmoil within me, and oh dear Goddess oops sorry, well. What I want to know is if you could perhaps just help me out of this little awkward situation I seemed to have gotten myself into-  
_

Silence.

Something was wrong.

Blink wasn't twittering away incessantly in her ear and his tightened grip on her frail arm had loosened. With an odd rush of optimism, Spell opened her eyes and was met by the gazes of two fair pairs of eyes; she knew them well. The first pair of eyes, wide and beautiful in their unique color of blue, were eyeing the whole situation with amusement. The second pair of eyes, the deep green of a forest shadow swirled with the light green of delicate leaves, were giving Blink a cold, hard stare.

"Lucks, Sketch!" Spell rushed forward, wrenching her arm from Blink's grip and throwing her arms around her two lovely friends.

"Heya Spell, we heard you might need some help?" Lucks, or the blue eyed fiend, was giving Jack a meaningful look. He took the hint and backed up, though he scowled at her openly. Lucks shrugged and turned once again to Spell, ignoring the boys and giving her friend a genuinely warm smile. Spell squealed and jumped on her friend, hugging her tightly, greatful for the reunion with her old friends.

"Lucks, what the hell are you doing here, you bitch! I had no idea you were coming!" Spell hugged her friend again, letting her friend know she didn't really think she was a bitch… most of the time. Lucks rolled her eyes and hugged her back, smiling as she did so.

"Always the drama queen. But look at you! God, you look different." Lucks flipped back her short hair to better observe her friend, whom she hadn't seen in over 2 years, since her move.

"Pshaw, I look just the same, but look at YOU!" Spell stepped back and held her friend at arm's length to take it all in. Her once dorky friend had most definitely… evolved. Her honey blonde hair was cut short, framing her pretty face and adoring smile. Her eyes, always large, now fit her face, and still sparkled as if they were laughing at everyone silently. Apparently the move to where was it again? had done good to her, for she had not gotten quite tan she had certainly gotten toned, and she had adopted some pleasant curves, a fact she seemed happy about. Always the drama nerd, she still wore the typical dramatic artist outfit, though it was somewhat downplayed: Black leggings with a hole in the thigh, a Chinese print halter, a black skirt, and chunky earrings. Spell smiled, extremely happy to have her friend back home. She then turned to one of her oldest remaining friends, ready to reunite, when she discovered her friend was a bit buisy having a stand-off with Blink.

They stood in the typical stance, legs spread slightly apart, a deep furrow in their brow, and their hands on their hips or in Blink's case, his pockets; he was afraid of being called a 'metro sexual':shiver:.

Sketchy's usually wild, laughing eyes were now frigid; icy to the touch, and searing whoever dare upset her. At the moment that person seemed to be Blink. It was odd to see them so cold to each other, considering they had been quite a known couple throughout Manhattan for many years. That is, until Blink found himself the true meaning of a drink, and Sketchy found herself Donald. 'Donald, like the duck?' Blink liked to say over a drink at the bar, while his friends pretended to laugh at the joke they'd heard about 1,000 times. As if sensing what she was thinking he cocked his head, his blonde hair tousled and streaked from the sun, and his summer sky eyes seemed to freeze as if just daring to look at her could freeze her insides to ice. She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a steady, impassive gaze to let him know he could no longer affect her.

FUCK! She was just as beautiful. He had hoped that he would see her as the truly ugly witch she was or who he had_ thought _she was when she had broken up with him, daring to cry over it when it was him who was hurting. No, she had been the one to just so nonchalantly rip his heart brutally out of his chest, and mail it off to some other corner of the world, so he would no longer be able to heal its scars. Because the memory of the actual event left him feeling vulnerable, he puffed out his chest and snarled at her.

Lucks and Spell stepped forward, but Sketchy saw their movements and silently shook her head no. They stepped back and watched helplessly, knowing their friend must face this alone.

"So... how's _Donald_," He growled, making it obvious that he was mocking her. She felt a little splinter of ice crawl into her heart and squirm around. Choosing to ignore it, as was the best possible solution, she answered his question with a cool and collected voice.

"Donald," She emphasized his name with a sigh, and watched his eyes go hard. At least, she had thought so for a small instant. "Is… wonderful. Great,we're both AMAZING." It was true, damn it, she just always seemed to doubt it when she was in Blink's overpowering presence, in the gaze of those sharp blue eyes. She remembered the first time she had looked into those eternally summer blue eyes of his, and she had thought, with a quiver in her belly, what is he capable of exactly? And, when she found out, would she like it? Well, she had found out, and for a time, she had liked it. Until now, when he stood looking at her, his animated lively face cold and devoid of kind thoughts. She took in a shaky breath and noticed, for the first time, how awkward this all was. Blink, his face cold, and his grip hard, as he held back his old pal who wouldn't resist anyway because of the lack of pride that would show. Trying to avoid the memories that those eyes of his conjured, she turned to look at Jack and found that he was gazing at Spell, who was carefully avoiding his gaze as she talked with animation to Lucks, who was giving Jack and Blink hard stares that went unnoticed by both of them

"Blink?" Hearing her say his name startled him, and for the briefest of seconds she saw a flood of emotions pass over his face, quickly masked by a hard control that she wanted to kiss- RIP, off his face. Right… not kiss… she had none of those feelings left, absolutely none. He waited for her. He had lived with her, had studied her, learned her both inside and out, enough to know when her thoughts were and weren't finished. The way he was looking at her shook her, and she struggled for the chilled ease she was seeking. "If you would kindly let step out of our path, I belive we'll be on our way," Spell wasn't the only one who could act, she thought to herself, smiling a demeaning smile as he stepped aside abruptly. "Thank you. Lucks? Spell?" She crooked both arms which Spell and Lucks linked to and all three women were off, leaving two pissed off guys behind them.

"...Gah!Women."Blink rubbed a hand over his face, irritated still at his reaction to her. His longing. He had once told her that with her tumbling dark hair, haunting voice, and enchanting eyes, she could be a siren. Little had he known that that was exactly what she was, and his passion for her had ultimately led to his downfall, like all the others before him.

"C'mon, let's go have us a drink," Jack dug out a cigar and lit it casually as he led his friend to the nearest bar.

"Sketch?" Spell asked tentatively, as her friend stormed ahead, leaving her and Lucks behind in her dust. Sketch whirled around, her recently cropped dark hair slapping her cheeks.

"What, Spell! What is it?" Sketch didn't realize she was crying until Spell came gently forward and wiped the tears off of her cheeks. Lucks took one of Sketchy's hands and tried out a smile for her friend. Lucks found them all a bench and sat Sketchy in the middle, trashing men while Sketchy sat there and sniffled.

"I mean, who the fuck do they fucking think they ARE? Jesus, I mean, he's not even that cute okay-"

Sketchy whipped her head up. "Yes. He. Is." She snapped, her eyes blazing with fury. Lucks retreated and Spell pursed her lips.

Sketch sat up and wiped the tears away with the backs of her hands. She could taste the salt on her lips.

"I must look like shit,"Sketchy remarked, smiling a little, apologizing in her own little way for snapping at her friends. Spell smiled back, awkwardly patting her on the back.

"Pretty much," Lucks smiled at her friend, letting her know she accepted, and Sketchy laughed, pleased with herself that she could do so through all those unhappy memories and the shame that they still haunted her.

"God, I mean, this is just great. He goes off, has a couple beers, and smokes a pack of Marlboros, while I sit here, crying on your shoulders, like some..."She gestured wildly and sighed in frustration at the lack of intelligible words in her head. "Like some pathetic nuiscnace still clinging to the past. AH! I always promised myself I wouldn't be that girl..." She itched for a ciggarette, just something to do with her hands, not to mention the fog of smoke that would shut her off from the pitying glances of passersby. They'd still be there, she just wouldn't have to see it. Have to deal with it. She looked over at her friends, who were both smiling in that rarely patient way only shown when the need was called for. "Awe, Spell, look at you. You've grown up so much," She bit her lip, her eyes swimming in tears as she remembered the two little girls who had jumped through the sprinklers together and let the sun touch their faces with such care-free innocence. "GODDAMNIT! I never cry this much, you know that, guys" Indeed, they did know.

"Nope, that's always been my job," Spell piped up, and they all three laughed. Then, as the moment began to fade, they sat there knowing that the need for words didn't touch them in this quiet state of observation and rememberance. Spell lifted her face to the sun so it would drench her face in light. Lucks sighed breathlessly and tasted the sting on her tongue. Lemons, if she had been asked the taste, she would have said with a slight smile that it tasted like lemons.

"Gotta light?" Sketchy asked, fiddling with her lighter.

"You hate smoke," Spell knit her brows together, cocking her head.

"I still do," Sketchy rubbed her temples, the sun too bright all the sudden.

Too fucking cheerful.

"Sketch, how bout somethin' to eat, and a place to eat it?" Lucks stood up, suddenly the caring friend, and she offered a small hand.

Sketchy felt somewhat relieved she didn't have to take care of what to do at the moment. She felt grateful just to lean on her two friends and nod, letting herself be led to that heinous contraption that her friend considered a 'real goddamn beauty'. She chuckled, and then she closed her eyes. In the semi-retreat behind her eyelids she relished in their secrets, and in the questions that all three girls couldn't bear to ask just yet…

* * *

_Ah, hope you guys liked it; More Characters in the next chappie; I'm on a roll!_


	4. Heartbreak & New Friends

"Ray… ray? Are you in there? Wake up, Ray…"

Muffled voiced surrounded her, fading in and out with darkness, as if someone were clapping their hands over her ears and then simultaneously releasing them to hear bits and pieces of their words. If she could only see what was happening, maybe then she'd… why did her head hurt?

"Look, she's waking up! Ray? Ray, say something!"

Was someone talking to her? She struggled to understand, but when she tried to think about it a piercing pain lanced through her head and down her spine. She moaned her agony, unaware of who was by her side.

"Ray! Ray, open your eyes and say something for god's sake!"

Ray was able to hear quite clearly now and understood that someone was talking to her, though she wasn't quite clear yet on who it was exactly, or where she was for that matter and how she had gotten there. She figured she might want to know. Finding the strength, she gently fluttered her eyelashes and, with grave uncertainty, opened her eyes the slightest bit.

"RAY! Oh thank God you're okay, we were all so worried." Ray struggled to locate the voice and, fully opening her eyes, saw that at least a dozen faces surrounded her, all their interests piqued at the drama. Her vision was still fuzzy but as she gently lifted her head she found that one face, at least, was distinguishable.

"Rose! What…where am I? How'd I get here? Why does my head hurt?"

Rose took a shaky breath and took Ray's hand. Delicate, lightly tanned fingers laced with Ray's long ones, and held on tightly. "You're in your and Spell's apartment sweety. You had a bit of a fall. We put you in Spell's bed, because it was the closest. Is that okay, because if it isn't I'm sure that-"

"No, no, its fine." She gave her friend a tremulous smile and withdrew her hand from the death grip she had on it. "Really." Ray wasn't sure exactly how fine it really was, considering Spell had talked at length about all the thing's she'd done in this bed, and whom she'd done them with, in great detail. Ray could only hope that perhaps they had changed the sheets before lying her in it… "Um…" she looked around at the other faces in bewilderment, some perfect strangers daring to stare quite pointedly right back at her.

Luckily, her friend seemed to understand. "Out, out! This girl has just had a concussion. Now go! Shoo!" As the last of the spectators left, grumbling on his way, Dusty turned back to her in anticipation of her needs. "Do you want anything? Some water? A book? Anything?"

Ray looked up and, her vision now cleared, she noticed Race on the other side of her friend, looking down at her with clear concern written all over his handsome face. "Race?" She said the name like a question though she clearly saw that it was him. Why was _he_ here? Surprised and somewhat ashamed, Ray instantly regretted the ungrateful thought when his face flooded with genuine relief.

He ever so gently took her hand in his own, cradling it with care as if it were some delicate porcelain piece, and held it to his lips. His dark, sad eyes filled with warmth. "Yea, it's me."

Ray looked at him, at the sad lines around his eyes, and she watched as Dusty put a hand on his shoulder without thinking, and how he immediately turned to look at her. Ray watched as his sad, deep eyes took on a glow of adoration as he sat there, beaming up at her.

That's when it hit her. It was amazing it had taken a concussion for it to get through to her, but she supposed that that was just the way it had to be. How could she have been so blind?

Race was in love… but not with _her_, with _Dusty_! She felt herself go a little weak, and she put her head back against the pillow, mentally kicking herself for not seeing it before.

_Oh._

In all honesty, she didn't quite know what to do with this new information, and was surprised that it didn't shock her more, or hurt her a bit more deeply. I mean, why should it shock her? Dusty was quite pretty, her and Race had long ago become the closest of friends, certainly he shared more secrets with Dusty than with Ray. But… still, the fact that she didn't feel any genuine heartbreak _was_ a little surprising. Lord knows if it had been _Spot_ in love with one of her friends… she couldn't even stand to think about it.

Ray took a shaky breath and put two fingers to her throbbing temples. This was all a little too much for someone that had supposedly just suffered from a concussion, not to mention the fact that she still had to deal with the fact that just last night she had slept with the one and only ex-love-of-her-life…_3 times! _And she was feeling a little- odd about it.

"Dusty?" Ray's voice seemed to echo in the sudden silence, and Rose quickly looked away from Race, a crimson blush of guilt flooding her cheeks. Her hand dropped, but not before both Race and herself registered it. Race's face fell.

"Yea? Did you think of something you want?" Her large brown eyes were hopeful, betraying further her guilt-ridden conscious.

Rachel cleared her throat a little more loudly than she intended to. "Actually, yes. I did. All I need now is an aspirin, and a glass of cold water." She smiled at her lovely friend gratefully, glad that the new discovery didn't change her feelings towards her at all.

"Of course! Of course I can do that. But are you sure that's all you want? No pillows, no blankets? No? Well, okay… I'll be _right_ back." She practically skidded out of the room in her hurry and Ray smiled as she left, closing the door tightly shut behind her. Race gazed at the door long after she had gone, smiling to himself as if he were unaware there was someone else in the room at all.

"Race?" She startled him from his reverie and he too flushed with guilt. Ray felt the slightest pang, and she tightened her hold on his hand. "I think we… We need to talk."

There it was; the 4 most dreaded words in the English Dictionary. It should have been sending warning bells off in Race's head but he seemed unperturbed as he wrapped his hand around hers and held on tightly, kissing the very tips of her fingers. She resisted a sudden urge to pull away, but just barely.

"God Rach, im so sorry, it's all my fault. If only I'd been paying attention instead of…" his voice drifted off sadly, and he stole a glance at the shut door. Ray sighed and patted his hand, smiling tolerantly.

"That's what we need to talk about." Race looked up in surprise. Ray smiled back at patiently at his sudden expression. "I know you're in love with Dusty." His dark eyes widened, and he opened his mouth to protest but Ray silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Now, don't try and deny it, and don't apologize. The truth is… I'm happy for you." He blinked quickly, as if her thoughts weren't registering quickly enough, and he had to speed up his actions in order to register what it was exactly she was telling him. She didn't blame him. "I just… I don't think me and you are right for each other in that way. In fact, I'm not sure we ever were. Now stop that pitiful expression on your face. I'm honestly not the injured party here, but if you don't hurry up and do something about Dusty, someone will be. Probably you."

"Are we… breaking up?" Race's voice registered pure shock, and she nodded gently. "Ray, I… I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything, especially not to Dusty. Not yet. I need to talk to her first, and while I'm waiting for her to show up you might as well go and fetch me an icepack. I feel a headache coming on." Even as the first throbbing pains came on, Ray felt quite pleased with herself at the way she had handled the sticky situation so efficiently.

"Sure, of course Ray. You know I'd do anything for you. Just wow… this is… wow!" Suddenly his face split into an ear to ear grin. "Thank you, Ray!" He was trying to contain the excitement, trying to keep it from bubbling from his whole being, but he was failing miserably, so she gave him a playful shove.

"Not a problem. Now get outta here and get me that icepack!" Ray felt his excitement spreading to her, and she smiled when he kissed her on both cheeks, practically tipping over with happiness. As he smiled into her eyes, leaped out of bed, and dashed out the door, she wondered if she'd ever seen him so happy.

And a tiny voice far inside her heart wondered if she had ever made anyone as happy as she had just made him.

Lauren, known to her friends as Logic, stood at the kitchen sink, up to her elbows in, as she liked to call them, multicolored rainbows. She blew some soapy bubbles from her gloved hands and laughed as she watched them float around the bright room and pop against the glass pane of the window. The sky was an azure blue, the setting sun was leaking orange and pink water colored like trails to enhance its perfection, and she sighed in contentment when the burst of sunshine warmed her upturned face.

This was how Cherry found her when she walked into the kitchen, a protesting wet cat under one arm and an armload of wash in the other. Despite her recent grumbles of mutiny and the sorry fact that her roommate was a pig, she watched with a light heart as her dear friend did not get the dishes done, staring out the window dreamily with a beatific smile on her lovely face. Cherry sighed, dumping both the mewing cat and the finished wash on the polished oak kitchen table with a loud 'oomph'. Logic turned around, barely repressing a yelp of surprise.

"Jesus Mary, ya scared the daylights out of me." Logic said on a soft laugh, her subtle Irish accent drizzling over Cherry's ears like honey.

Cherry, birth name Mary, leaned against the oak table and crossed her arms over her chest in a pose Logic instantly recognized as foreboding lecture. "I see you haven't gotten the dishes done." Cherry said in a voice that was like the false calm before a storm.

"Well, you know, it was just so lovely outside and all and it's just such a day for dreams…" Noticing her friend's rather frazzled look she inclined her head. "I'm sorry. I know I promised, its just…" She gazed up at her friend helplessly, saying wordlessly that the dreamer in her could not be repressed for a day of cleaning.

Cherry shook her light brown head of hair and laughed. She sat in a chair at the table, pulling one out for her friend. "Come on, sit down." Logic didn't need to be asked twice, instead pulling off her yellow gloves and throwing them on the counter. "I must seem crazy sometimes," Cherry began. Lo cocked her head in curiosity but said nothing, waiting for her friend to continue. "I mean, I'm always cleaning and never dreaming… but I do dream. I suppose," she sighed, tracing the patterns of the table with one finger, her amber eyes soaking up the last bit of sunlight, "I mean I guess that I've just been too busy to sit and dream. I'm working on a new movie, and if that's not hard enough I come home and the house is messy. You know what a neat freak I am."

Cherry searched Logic's unblinking brown eyes and Lo bit down on her lip, nodding guiltily. "I also…" Cherry's voice choked and her hazel eyes shimmered in sadness "I just, I don't know. I don't know if this is what I want to do, or do I want to act, or do I want to direct? And I miss my friends too. I mean, obviously I love you, or I wouldn't be sharing this house with you, I just… they, my best friends, they always knew how to make it better again." She sniffled, brushing away a runaway tear and gazing at Logic again, searching for compassion. Logic was mesmerized by the green and gold flecks, so it was a minute before she said anything.

"I do understand. I'm sorry. But you have your whole life ahead of you to find out what you want to do. Or you don't ever have to choose. You could do all of them, and you're amazing at everything you do. So don't worry, okay? I know it must be hard to be away from all your best friends, but you do have me if that counts. Remember when we met?" Logic asked, distracting her friend from her doubts and fears.

It worked. Cherry laughed, her eyes lighting up in a lovely glow of warmth. Logic felt herself beaming. "We were both meeting for the first time, and your mother and my mother kept pushing for us to get closer… And then you tried to take my Cookie." Cherry's eyes turned to slits at the thought, referring to the small stuffed cat she had had since birth.

Logic laughed, "Yea, well I learned my lesson the first time around. I don't think after the wild war cry or the slap in the face, that I'd ever do it again." Cherry giggled as well, her heart shaped face caught in the last rays of pure sunlight, the green in her eyes swirling like a churning, silent sea. Logic almost caught her breath.

"Now, can I ask you something?" Cherry's voice, a simple comfort, had Logic nodding. She'd do practically anything to help her friend from retreating to sorrow. "Finish the dishes." With that, Cherry kissed her cheek and sauntered out the back kitchen door, leaving Logic alone with a pile of dishes and a growling, wet pussycat.

"Oh dear..." Logic said on a drawn out sigh; back to the many bubbles and window of darkening sky. Grabbing a towel with little sunflowers at the bottom, she did her best to dry off their cat, a stray that had adopted them a few months ago, and smiled when the feisty thing leaped from the towel's embrace. Humming an old lullaby, Logic got to work on the stack of unclean dishes, distracting herself with memories of her childhood as the first stars twinkled in the twilight. First kisses and old crushes, stuffed animals and stuffed bras, dress up and heels, barbies and makeup… my, how the years had flown by.

The dishes done, surprisingly quickly when done with practicality, Logic took off the gloves and wiped her soapy hands on a lovely dress of butter yellow, which enhanced the glow of her light brown eyes. She had only just turned 17 and she was living independently, sharing the inheritance her family had left her with Cherry, who had agreed to move in and, despite Logic's protests, pay her back. They were a few hours away from New York City, in a relatively rural area. Cherry had thought she would lose her mind from lack of civilization within the first few days, but had eventually grown to love the little cottage. Almost as much as Logic had the first time her eyes had set on it.

Logic wandered around the house, ending up in the front room, tracing the window frames, marveling that this was their house. Now, here they were, two old friends who'd never lost touch, sharing in this dream, each trying to live out their own. She'd never thought she would do it, and now that she had, her life seemed far more structured than most of the girls her age. House, job that she loved so far and would work into her career, pet, food in the kitchen… what more could a young, independent woman ask for? And yet…

And yet, still something was missing. It was a hollow ache in the deepest part of her heart. Sometimes, in the deep quiet night, she'd clutch her chest as if she could tear the throbbing out with her bare hands, and let the tears silently slip down her cheeks, like living stars. Why then, she wondered, did she feel so empty?

Realizing that a tear was tracing her cheekbone she angrily jerked her hand across her face and stormed into the entryway that led to the front door, hoping to find some inner peace in the comforting night that had emerged from the shadows.

She leaned against the railing, sucking in the clean air. It strained and stung her lungs with its purity, making her want to savor it as if it were something rather delicious. The hint of an apple pie in the oven tickled her senses, the crisp scent of autumn almost making her dizzy, being so accustomed to smoggy air and cloudy skies. Now, as she looked out at that stretch of sky, she sighed with a bit of wonder, a bit of sadness.

"Lord… we haven't talked in a while. I'm sorry. I won't waste time asking for blessings. I appreciate everything I have, thank you very much… its just…" realizing she was talking to air she blushed, and glanced around. No one seemed to be around, so she continued on. "I want… the emptiness. I want it to go away. I don't see…" she blinked back the tears quickly forming like misty cobwebs in her eyes, "I just want to understand it, then I can make it stop on my own. So, um…thank you." Now that her praying, or rather her conversation, with God was over, she felt like running and jumping into the pile of leaves Mary had raked that day. Giddily, she laughed at the thought. She felt as if she should give in to her fantastic notions, and was about to, when something startled her back to the present.

Out of an old, rumbling pickup truck leaped 3 girls, all with some sort of alcoholic beverage in their hands. Rowdily they clambered through the mowed lawn and avoided the flower beds, each voice running over and into the other voices, like a speedway of some sort. Logic could only gape. Where had they come from and why, of all places, were they here?

The three girls, finally having taken notice of her, walked towards her, their faces shining from the inside out. "Hello," the first one called to her, still a few feet away "You must be Lauren. We've all heard so much about you." When Logic still said nothing, she added in explanation "We're friends of Cherry." Now, only a few inches away, the three girls smiled at her becomingly, awaiting a response. The darkness stretched out beyond them in a dejected rejection.

"Oh. Yes. Umm... I suppose, come in, and make your selves at home. Cherry will be home shortly." She prayed that the last was true, because she had no idea where her friend had gone, and she could be back in anywhere from 3 minutes to 3 hours. Logic shook her head, as if to repel the nervous energy, and opened the door, ushering the three mostly faceless girls in from the darkness. Logic still didn't turn to look at them, instead patting her hair, fretting about her makeup. The moment of her abandon was now forgotten. "Please, find a seat. I'll be back in just a second."

The three didn't say a word, merely shrugged and went about looking for some place comfortable, fully intending to take for granted Logic's breezy statement of making themselves at home.

A very few minutes later Logic emerged, her hair tamed into a braid at her back and her eyes brushed with mascara, just because she didn't want to look like a heap of death when meeting three new strangers. As she reassured herself that touching up was absolutely fine, practically a necessity to any hostess, she looked around the front room. Not surprisingly, the girls were not there. Logic puckered her lips thoughtfully. Of course, now she had the perfect opportunity to escape. She could just leave the girls to their own devices until Cherry came home, and they could all be properly introduced, without all the pre-awkwardness. Her eyes strayed to the front door, which was just beyond her reach… it would only take a few steps and the rev of an engine to get out of here and perhaps go into town, see a movie, until she was sure Cherry had returned.

With her body poised, she turned back and sighed, biting back a curse. Damn it all, she wanted a better look at them. Under the dim light they had all seemed lovely, but didn't everyone look just so under a large harvest moon? No, she had to see for herself. Logic took a deep breath and headed towards the living room, her curiosity peeked.

Despite its label as a cottage, the house was actually quite large. They had three bathrooms, 4 bedrooms, two of which were upstairs, a font room, a kitchen, and a living room. The living room was Cherry and Logic's favorite retreat. Done in a deep shade of cranberry red, with a fire on the far side of the room, it seemed to reach out and hug you in its warmth the instant you set foot in it. The west wall was entirely windows, with curtain shades of transparent cream, so that the sunlight would always shine through. Next to the fireplace was a door that led to the dining room, which they rarely used, instead taking their meals in here or the kitchen.

The front wall of the living room had two bookshelves, one on either side of the door, which the girls had cluttered with meaningless knickknacks and a splendid amount of candles, candles they lit when they needed the semblance of peace. Near the fireplace were two very large couches, in clashing shades of purple and bright red, facing sideways from the fireplace and towards each other, with a glass coffee table in between, where you could set your books or your wine glass if they became burdensome.

Here is where she found the three girls, all huddled on the purple couch, wineglasses in hand and smiles on their faces. For a moment, Logic just looked at them all, mentally sketching the picture in her head, her fingers itching for some charcoal and drawing paper. Never before had she seen such a moment of perfection; three beautiful girls, the way the firelight caught the red and white liquid in their glasses, the sheen of happiness in their large eyes, one girl's head tossed back and one's hand on her mouth to catch a shout of laughter. She hated to ruin it.

Turning to go, to leave the three friends be, she put her hand on the brass doorknob that led to the front room.

"Oh, there you are. Please don't go because of us. We'd all love to sit and chat with you, if that's alright?" Logic's hand paused, and she took a deep breath, scolding herself for being nervous of such a friendly voice. Instead of escaping, Lo turned around, pasting a smile on her pretty face, clasping her hands in front of her.

"Hello." A voice from the couch said, as an invitation to their private party of three. Logic couldn't say who had invited her but she stayed, somewhat frozen, in her stance at the door. "Won't you sit down?" The girls all looked at her. Logic looked at them. Clearing her throat in another attempt to get rid of the ball of fear in the back of her throat, she walked down the few steps that led into the quiet room and walked to the couch, settling on the one opposite them.

Before she had said anything, before she had indeed thought of anything to say, one of the girls handed her a wineglass. "Red wine, or champagne?" The girl giggled, her blue eyes dancing in leaping efforts of tipsiness. Logic smiled, rather shakily the girls noticed, and nodded at the champagne.

"Thank you," she said once her glass had been topped off. Now what? She wondered as she took a tentative sip of the bubbling concoction. "Mmmm," she murmured, recognizing the champagne as an expensive and tasty sort.

"Good? I'm Lucks. I've heard a lot about you." She lifted her glass in a mock toast and threw back her head, catching a mouthful of wine and ignoring the other two girl's laughter. When she had finished she licked her lips and looked straight at Lauren, put her glass on the table, and held out an elegant hand. For a second Lauren had been caught up, Lucks reminding her of a brazen lady in years long gone, who the stoic woman might have envied and the dignified men would have sneaked peaks at, so that when she surfaced from her daydream didn't know quite what to do with the gesture. Fortunately she came to her senses in time and took the hand, shaking it firmly. The other girl cocked her head and smiled broadly. Lauren sipped some more champagne and smiled back, observing as she was wont to do. Lucks, the one with the dancing blue eyes, sat on the far left. There was a glass of red wine in her clever hands and her small, stained red mouth was puckered into a smile of curiosity that was absolutely lovely to look at. Her hair was like the honey that Cherry loved to spread thick on her toast, pure and golden, cropped short to a face that was admittedly easy to envy. Logic wondered just how many girls did envy her, and just how many men's stares caused that envy. Unaware of Lucks' usual unique style, Logic skimmed the length of her clingy light blue silk camisole, trimmed with a fine white lace, and a tight denim white skirt. Golden legs, toned and tucked beneath her, were partially concealed by the white knee high socks with bows on them. Lucks was both cute and sexy, a compelling mixture as well as one that Logic had always envied. In Lucks' bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and her open smile, Logic found a zest for life that was startling and admirable. When she laughed, the ring in it went on until you heard it again, craving ever more, like a rich, dark chocolate.

Feeling a need to say something, Logic cleared her throat once again. "I'm Lauren. I guess you knew that. Everyone calls me Logic, though. You must be the friends Cherry's always talking about." Logic felt herself smiling at the trio and receiving answering smiles, as if they were genuinely happy that they should all finally meet.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet the one Cherry's been writing me about. Cherry told me your house was beautiful… she told me you were, too. She was right on both counts, if you were wondering." This the second one purred from the right end of the couch, her large green eyes taking in Logic's curves and her flaming hair. Logic felt her cheeks heat up, knowing they were probably now a ridiculous shade of pink, and she took another, less tentative sip of her champagne. Somehow, she thought she just might need it tonight. The enchantress, as Logic had named her, felt compelled to continue. "I'm sorry. I just noticed how lovely you were. I'm Laura, but please, call me Sketchy." Sketchy extended her hand to Lo, her rich, upward tilted green eyes sparkling with mischief, the shadows in them a mystery Lo was sure many men felt driven to solve. Her hair was a dark pixie cut, bangs sweeping down just enough to barely conceal the sparkle of her eyes, lashes lowered in a way that suggested the wine was quite intoxicating indeed. Cheekbones jutted out in triumph, and her pink lips were wet with the taste of wine and a brazen sweep of her tongue. Due to a trip to the mall on their way, all three girls had changed for their visit. Sketchy's décolletage was just enough to spark interest but subtle enough to keep her from being labeled as something crude. A green dress that matched her eyes hugged her very voluptuous figure, and Logic shut her mouth to keep from gaping. It was like a movie star had walked into her house and called _her_ gorgeous. What girl wouldn't gape?

"Th-thank you." Lo stammered, unsure of how to respond to the compliments from a girl that seemed to scream mystery and sex appeal. She tugged at the hem of her simple dress, wishing she had worn something different, perhaps something prettier, or…

"Sketchy, you're gonna scare the girl to death and we've barely introduced ourselves!"

"Well then why don't you introduce yourself, my lady?" Sketchy snapped with no real venom, before she humph-ed and flopped back against the couch, sulkily taking a sip of her red wine for show.

This little tsk-tsk was from the middle one, the third one, who emerged from the shadows of her two friends and reached for Logic's near empty glass. "I'm sorry if Sketchy unnerved you, she's a bit… friendly sometimes. By the way, I'm Elisabeth, but everyone calls me Spell." Elisabeth, or Spell she supposed, handed Lo her glass back and refilled her own, looking up to smile at Logic as if they were old friends sharing in some secret. Logic smiled back. Spell was drinking the champagne as well. This made Lauren unaccountably giddy for some reason. Pursing her lips and nodding her head she imagined a few pastels and began mentally sketching, once again, what she saw. Spell, unlike the stunning pixie and the shadowed seductress, looked as if she had just stepped off a runway, or some fashion magazine cover, like Vogue. Champagne blonde hair, with platinum highlights and honey waves, curled softly around a flawless face, pointed ever so delicately at the chin. Her eyes were indistinguishable from green or blue, but Logic finally settled on turquoise as Spell raised her dark lashes once again. Blush stained her dramatic cheekbones and her full mouth was in a pout of concentration. Swoop bangs almost covered her left eye, and the total effect was one of some exotic super model. She wore a particularly skin tight white dress, and Logic noticed she had curves but no body fat to speak of. There was a sunflower tucked behind her ear.

Logic leaned back, taking in the image of the three gorgeous girls, different in their own marvelous ways but still equally beautiful, all sitting on her couch. As she did, she felt her resolve beginning to crumble around her. "My god, you three are stunning." She heard herself let out on a breath, her words tumbling before she could contemplate if it sounded too stupid, too anything. Instantly all three eyes were on her; green, blue, and a mixture of the two. They each spoke, in silence, separate emotions.But the one all held true was an unfeigned disbelief.

"I think" Lucks said with a cock of her perfectly plucked eyebrow, "someone's had too much champagne."

Sketchy snorted, though her eyes contradicted it with merriment. "Speak for yourself Lady Lucks." She stuck an expertly curled tongue out at her friend. Before the argument could continue, it was completely halted by a bubbling of laughter from the other side of the couch. The two looked, stunned, to see Logic hastily covering her mouth with her hand.

"I'm sorry, its just, you looked so funny with your tongue sticking out and your eyes crossed…" Logic felt another burst of laughter emerge through the cracks in her fingertips, a bright bubble of champagne induced giggles. Sketchy and Lucks opened their mouths to defend themselves when Spell began to chuckle as well.

"Spell!" They said at once.

"I'm sorry, it's just" she hiccupped "I don't know!" she hiccupped again and fell into a fit of giggles. Logic thought that Spell's simultaneous hiccupping and giggling was so funny that she started laughing again, clutching her stomach as if to stop it. Soon, Lucks began to laugh, and finally she, too, was collapsing with the hilarity that only someone extremely tipsy or awesomely exhilarated may understand. Sketchy pouted for an instant before Spell and Lucks fell on her, tickling her with abandon, until she was shrieking with laughter and begging for surrender. The laughter went on for what seemed like hours, champagne sloshed in glasses, wine was drank, and the girls clutched their bellies when it became too much to go on.

An hour or so later, the girl's sat companionably, enjoying each other's company, rejoicing for the fact of a new friend; or 3, in Logic's case. The firelight suggested a sophistication that the girls had done away with themselves, the stars outside dimming in comparison to the twinkles in all four's eyes. The seating had changed, leaving Spell sitting with Sketchy on the purple couch, who was taking up half of it in mid-slumber. Her ivy colored bedroom eyes seemed heavy with enlightening dreams, her voice husky with exhaustion. Logic and Lucks sat opposite the two of them, chatting animatedly about a wide range of topics, from men to politics to that fabulous new Ben and Jerry's ice-cream flavor. Spell, being an observer herself, leaned back against the plush material and watched Logic's face, capturing her range of emotions in a still memory.

How, Spell wondered to herself in the seclusion, did this beautiful girl not know how intensely captivating she was? At first Spell had wondered if Logic had been pulling their leg about the ignorance of her beauty, and then she thought modesty might have been the cause, seeing that the girl's manners were quite eloquent. But, on further discussion, she soon came to realize that Logic was truly extremely unaware of her own fairness. Now, as she was talking to Lucks, her face caught in the epitome of charm, the moment imprinted itself on Spell's mind. Logic's hair had become unbound in the fit of giggles and resulting pillow fight, and now her splendid crown of riotous curls framed her face in an enchanting red and golden haze. Her face was made up of alabaster angles, sharp and jutting and beautiful in their recklessness. Sketchy had complimented Logic's gorgeous eyes and had received a dumbfounded expression, with the retort that her eyes were a muddy, vacuous brown color, not at all to be envied, as were their three pairs of eyes. Did she not see the way the firelight caught her shining eyes and turned their mahogany depths into a likeness of the fairest auburn, framed by her curling, midnight black lashes? Her wide eyed gaze must set many hearts to beating, thought Spell. She reminded Spell of a pixie one might come across in a garden, if one happened to be lucky to see something so intensely beautiful. Unlike their own clingy, attention appetizing outfits, Logic's outfit set off her frame and curled like a contented kitten to her figure. Its simple frame kept teasing the eye when with a swift motion, her dress would cling like Velcro to a hidden dip or curve. Then the fabric would settle, almost at once, making one wonder what might lie beneath. It was as if she had meticulously chosen it, to be mysterious and overwhelming to the senses. Spell took another sip of the amber fluid and made a mental note to try that technique herself.

The fluid conversation and the healing laughter ceased when a window creaked open in the next room. Logic stood upright at once, and the others followed, somewhat unsteadily behind her. "What is it?" Asked Sketchy, awoken suddenly by the movements around her, whose voice had gone quite small though her eyes had become quite large; Spell felt her nerves jangling and reached for Sketchy's hand to smooth away her fears, as twins or sisters often do.

Logic and Lucks, Spell and Sketch, clasped hands.

"Do you have a weapon?" Spell asked, her voice a cutthroat semblance of calm.

"I…" Logic licked lips that had gone dry in true fear.

"HERE!" Lucks thrust a candlestick into Spell's hands, and at Spell's disbelieving look shrugged with a jerk of humble shoulders. "It's the best thing around…"

Spell sighed, shaking her head as though realizing she was now the most sober person here. A crash came from the next room, along with a little curse.

On her other side, Logic gripped Spell's arms in white knuckled fright. "Oh my god… I'm being robbed!"

Spell patted her hand and gently extricated herself from the rather fearsome grip.

"Wait here." She demanded, her eyes taking on a hint of steel that if the criminal had seen beforehand, might have caused him to rethink the house he was robbing. With only a candlestick to arm her, she crept stealthily to the dining room, thankful for all the practice she'd had at being silent back stage. Gulping, she put her hand on the doorknob, the brass shaking ever so slightly beneath her trembling fingertips.

"On 3. 1, 2…3!"

Spell lurched open the door and with a warrior like cry burst into the room, where even as she swung with the candle stick wildly, almost stopped by the shrill and familiar shrieking. Then, as something collided with her head, and the stars burst into her eyes, three familiar shapes came into view.

"HOLY SHIT!"

"OH MY GOD!"

Before Spell went under, she wondered if she was hallucinating the three unexpected guests in front of her…

And then two visions went black.


End file.
